minutiae: precise details; small or trifling matters.
The devil is in the details.
And I am deviled by details. The many small bits both precise and necessary, and absolutely trivial. Yet they fight for space and don't recognize the difference between themselves.
How long ago did the baby nap. What size shoe is girl A wearing now. Did I put a sandwich in the lunch bag. Are we out of milk. Is the garage door closed. Have I seen C's shoes lately. Is it time to meet the bus. What will dinner be. Have they had a bath in 2 days. Are there dirty clothes under the bed. Is the porch light on. Where is the case to that CD. Did I sign & return the HW log.
The thoughts run through and around as they do with us all, until a point in time when exhaustion sets in and I plead for no more thoughts, requirements or memories of responsibility. Until the worn-down mantle settles over me and I am done. And I need a moment and a space around myself where there is no other, and in particular no one smaller than myself. It is the balance of motherhood that must be recognized. The tipping point that, left unseen, can only be trouble. On one side lies rechargeable personal batteries and rejuvenation. The other side carries only chaos and bitter fatigue.
The minutiae holds it all. The precise details of a functioning life, and the trifling matters of human nature. The minutiae holds the mother. And she must delve into it to recognize that crucial moment of stepping away for the breath. Releasing the details into the ether, and trusting that no small thing will go undone, come undone for the moment.
I take the breath, stand in the center, become whole again.